One Last Step
by kidders
Summary: What might have happened before the epilogue of "Tuesday the 17th." Alternate ending.


ONE LAST STEP…WAIT, NOBODY SAID ALLIGATOR WAS ON THE MENU, AND I JUST FLOSSED!

A Psych fic

Set during the episode "Tuesday the 17th"

Alternate ending, more whumpage ensues

Angst, /I just borrowing for fun, no copyright infringement intended.

Shawn, Gus, Juliet, Jason, Sissy, Clive (and Annie and Billy RIP)

Rating: T for graphic medical descriptions and slightly foul language

"GUUUUUSSSSSSS!"

The scream cut through the small cabin, and Juliet couldn't stop her flinch as she recognized Shawn's voice, pitched high into a shriek of pure agony, another cry immediately filling the void left by the first, cutting off after a long moment and leaving only the racing thud of her heart to assault her ears while her throat closed around a fitful swallow. She finished cuffing Clive's uninjured hand to the refrigerator door, nerves stretched into a silent storm that trembled down her spine and strained every breath into a half-gasped exhalation as she stood and quickly inventoried nearby drawers. After duct taping the man's feet for good measure and ensuring all sharp objects were out of reach, she'd started to turn for the door when Clive called after her.

"Hey, what about my bullet wound? I'm bleeding here!"

Facing the man who, oddly enough, had practically asked her out on a date when they'd first met, Juliet forced her expression into a mask of indifference. "You gave up any rights you were entitled to when you butchered Annie and Billy in cold blood. I'll get to you later," she whispered coldly, walking away before her voice had a chance to break off key. Shawn was in trouble, and judging from that scream…

Running into Gus at the door, she yanked it open and raced down the stairs, dodging lawn furniture and feeling the bite of the wind as it swirled leaves into the air. "Did you hear that? Shawn sounded like he was—" Juliet rounded the corner of the cabin, and couldn't stop the gasp of horror that battered its way past her lips, shock rooting her in place. Shawn was on the ground, lying awkwardly on his back, right knee bent at a strange angle while he writhed in obvious pain, panting breaths loud enough to hear even with the thunder, and then he screamed again and she lurched down beside him, intercepting his flailing hands and holding on tight.

"AAAHHHH! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! GET IT OFF! GETITOFF…

GETITOFF…GETITOFF!!!" His head was thrown back, spine arched as he twisted to try and escape the agony, right hand pulling loose to twist frantically at his thigh, fingers whitening in clutching spasm, trying to find a way to dull the pain.

Juliet let her gaze follow the path of the rest of his leg, and her eyes came to rest on the mess that was Shawn's right foot and ankle. He'd stepped in some kind of animal trap, the gun-metal gray of the jaws nearly black now, glistening faintly in the moonlight, and she inhaled noisily, realizing it was blood. There was a louder gasp behind her, Gus coming to the same conclusion, then the sound of retching, but she couldn't worry about that now.

"Shawn!" She freed her wrist from the death grip of his left palm, and cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. "Shawn, listen…I know it hurts, but just keep still and let me check your leg, okay?" His eyelids fluttered open, and a convulsive swallow gave rise to more choking gasps, eyes blinking hard while he tried to focus, both hands closing around her forearms. Wetness grazed her fingertips, tears falling unchecked as he sobbed in quivering breaths, jaw clenched tight with the struggle for control.

"I-I-ummm…" Another loud swallow, and she could feel him trembling. "I found t-the first a-aid kit." He laughed once, before the sound trailed off into a groan. The white, standard issue case had landed a few feet away under the foliage of a nearby bush, a stark reminder to the fact she was the one who'd sent Shawn outside to retrieve it. "That's one small s-step for a p-psychic, one g-giant leap in-into t-this fr-freaking Lake Placid n-nightmare!" Teeth grazing across his lower lip, his jaw suddenly locked, eyes squeezing tight as he fought against the pain, unshaven cheeks a rough bristle against her skin. "P-pl-please…Jules…please h-help…" A violent shudder ripped through him, and Shawn twisted his face from her grasp, gagging wetly, a mix of saliva and bile spewing from his mouth.

When the spasm ended, his head lolled weakly to the ground, and he gasped harder and harder while she gently wiped his lips with the end of her sleeve. "Okay, just hold on, I'm going to try and release the catch. Gus, a little help here please!"

"Oh, God, first Annie and Billy, and now Shawn…" Gus shook his head as he stumbled back a step. "I don't think I can." He started breathing anxiously through his mouth.

"Gus, do not start assigning blame for a situation no one could have predicted, not even Shawn," Juliet told him, crawling around the psychic's feet. "This is not your fault! You were trying to help a friend. End of story."

"D-dude, it…totally i-is your f-fault," accused Shawn.

"Not helping," Juliet countered, attempting to examine his foot.

"Fine." His voice shook, sounding choked. "I'll j-just lie here b-being Crazy Clive's w-wet dream. 'Cause h-he's in charge of a-anything wet!" He snickered, but in a dark and twisted attempt at sarcasm, hand returning to squeeze at his right thigh. "Billy wi-with a mop in t-the laundry s-shack. Ann-annie after a—aaahhhh!—shower, in her bathrobe with an ax. Me, f-foot crushed by…by a bear tr-trap..offside. Allll totally illll-legal, ya know?" Juliet glanced up, surprised at the detail, then sighed. This was Shawn, after all. He hiccupped, asked shakily, "How bad?"

Forcing in a quick breath, she carefully pushed his pant leg up and held the flashlight—thrust into her fingers by a worried Gus—to get a closer look at the damage. Blood had soaked through his sock, covered the metal jaws snapped shut just above his ankle. Skin and muscle had been twisted and torn away, and she could see the white gleam of bone underneath before it was obscured by a fresh ooze of more blood. "It's bad, but the bleeding seems to be slowing."

"That's because the teeth are exerting pressure on the blood vessels running through the injured area," Gus pointed out, joining her on the ground. He seemed to be careful not to look directly at Shawn's foot, and she remembered his problem with blood. "Once we take it off, it'll likely get much worse."

"So n-not helping!" yelped Shawn, digging his fingers into the dirt and letting out a low moan. "You are not…n-not leaving my l-leg stuck in this th-thing all n-night!"

Gus locked eyes with hers, and he shook his head. "Shawn's right. Pretty soon that pressure will start to cut off blood flow to the rest of his foot, and the tissue will become ischemic. We have to remove it, and work to minimize blood loss ourselves." He panted slightly, still inhaling through his mouth. "And hope for the best."

"Ish—what? Scheme-ic? What the hell does that m-mean?"

"It means the tissues in your foot will start to die because the circulation is cut off, Shawn!"

Gus was scared, guilt riding shotgun in every word he said. If she could hear it, she knew Shawn could, too. Panic and pain and bleeding were not a good combo on any day of the week, especially in the field with medical help hours away. Shawn's eyes went glassy as he struggled up on his elbows. "Jesus, I can't…I'm not…going t-to lose my foot, am I?" Voice climbing to hover between bursts of agony and wild-panicky fear, he started babbling, "I don't want to l-lose my f-foot. I need _both _my f-feet! Right an' left, equal…ly. No losing an-y extremities…in Psych's operating cl-clause. Definitely not because of…of Jason Cunningham!"

Juliet took the pocket knife Gus offered her, and slit Shawn's jeans up to the knee, pulling the denim away, quickly discarding the blood-soaked fabric. "Hey, no destroying public pro-property," he squeaked, pulling in a ragged breath. She glanced at Gus, who now looked positively grim.

"He's going into shock."

"I can hear youuu…" Shawn made it sound like a childish taunt, his voice edging toward hysteria. "My golden…hour, shot to hell because of a…a overturned lo-logging truck! Hey…why is it gold? Anybody? Why not…sil-ver…or platinum?"

"Actually, platinum refers to the first ten minutes after the paramedics arrive on the scene when they need to stabilize the victim," recited Gus.

Shawn grimaced. "Thank you, Dr. McCoy. I'm s-sure Captain Kirk will be relieved to know sickbay a-accepts Visa debit. Shouldn't l-leave the planet without it."

A thunder clap boomed over their heads, and they all jumped, Shawn making a whimpering noise as he lurched upward. Grabbing his leg with both hands, he began pleading, "Get it off, please get it off! Jason…my piñata was way b-better than h-his. You know…I…I don't feel s-so good."

Alarmed by the sudden draining of any remaining color from his face, Juliet shoved both palms against Shawn's chest and pushed. He flopped limply onto his back, swallowing repeatedly and licking dry lips. "Shawn, keep your head down! And stop talking, you need to conserve your strength."

Gus rolled his eyes. "That's like asking him not to breathe."

Juliet pulled out a couple of pairs of latex gloves, handed one to Gus. "Okay, here's what we're going to do—Gus, you are going to trigger the release catch on the trap, and I'll pull Shawn's leg out." Retrieving the first aid kit, she snapped on her gloves and readied some sterile gauze. "On my count…" Gus was in position, fingers flexed but eyes closed. She grabbed the frayed ends of denim, steadied her grip. "…one, two, _three!_"

Metal creaked open, and Shawn's foot was suddenly free. The psychic let out an anguished cry, pounding the dirt with his palms as Gus allowed the trap to spring shut. "Shit, shit, shit…that _hurt!_" Shawn moaned long and hard. "Christ, please don't…don't do that a-again."

"Shawn, enough with the hand slapping, you're kicking up too much dust. This wound is contaminated as it is." Juliet lifted his leg to the side as carefully as she could, gauze under his heel, holding two other pieces on each of the deep cuts running across his ankle, applying firm pressure with her palm.

Sucking in a strained breath, Shawn coughed and made his voice a tinny whine. "Contaminated? Jules, you wound m-me."

Yes, Juliet thought, Gus did have a point. The moment Shawn Spencer ever stopped jacking his jaw, it would be time to really worry. End of the world worry. Trying for a stern tone, she reiterated, "Shawn, what did I just say?"

The man offered her a weak grin, fists squeezed against his hips. "When? Oh, got it—" He turned on his eighth-grade girl impression. "—keep your head down…stop talking…Gus, you get to be the trigger man, won't that be fun? One, two…does anyone know what comes next? Could it be…three? Oh, I'm so sexy with the latex on, slap me Shawn, you know you want t-to…" He fell silent, only because he ran out of air. A couple of gasps later, Shawn started to frown. "Um, Jules, you're pushing too hard, and it hurts, and—"

"Shawn, I swear if you make another joke, I will—"

"Duct tape my mouth?" A small laugh emerged from his throat. Elbowing up, he blinked, squinting like he couldn't see straight. "Oooo. Have we struck …struck fantasy material…here?" He sobered, and the smile became strained. "Ow. Owowowowow! Jules, stop squeezing my foot like it's the new Thigh Master! Less leverage is a good t-thing."

"You're still bleeding. I don't slack off until it stops."

He grimaced. "You know, here's an idea: let's duct tape every surface on Clive's body. Specifically, spots with hair. And I can watch Gus rip them off one at a time…

slowly."

"Oh, no you won't," protested Gus, slowly getting down on his knees beside his friend. "I'm not getting within arm's length of that deranged lunatic."

"That's f-fair, I suppose." For a moment, the psychic seemed at a loss for words, and Juliet used the opportunity to add more gauze to the wound's dressing. Shawn winced, let his head roll back to stare at the sky before abruptly declaring, "Wet. More wet…wet-ter?...wetness? Not good."

"Shawn, what are you saying?" Juliet asked, feeling her fingers beginning to cramp. It had been a long day, and she was really tired.

"It's raining," he groused, slumping back and rubbing his arms like he was cold. "And I can't take a shower…no plastic wrap for my…cuts and grazes and gashes. They say not to get them wet, but I don't know why…"

"I know something I'd like to plastic wrap," Juliet muttered under her breath, trying not to notice how Shawn's blood was seeping into the cloth of her slacks. And this was one of her favorite pantsuits, too.

"I hear that," Gus whispered, inching closer. "Why don't you let me take over for a while. You can take a break and go check on Jason."

A big, fat raindrop landed on the tip of her nose. God, Shawn was right. The storm was moving in fast, and none of them could really afford to get soaked. "No, we need to move him inside, Gus. Besides, your issues with the sight of blood—"

"I can take it."

She summoned a smile. "I'm sure you can, given the right incentive. But I don't want to lose pressure on the wound, and Shawn's going to need help getting into the cabin. That will be your job."

"Come on, Shawn." Gus got an arm around his friend's shoulders, and pulled gently. "Let's get you back into the cabin. You'll be much more comfortable there."

He met with resistance, and sighed. "Stop stalling, you know we need to do this."

"WE need to do this? REALLY?!" Shawn didn't seem to want to make eye contact. He was trembling, arms locked over his chest, not helping in the least. "And why are WE here, Gus? On a case for the k-kids, right? Isn't that how you lured me up to Camp Tiki-Shark week? You said, and I quote, 'if you can't do it for an old f-friend with a good heart, do it for the kids.' You guilted me into coming here, and look where it g-got us!"

Gus felt culpability take a giant swipe at his gut. He briefly closed his eyes, telling himself Shawn was in a lot of pain, bleeding, maybe going into shock, and couldn't be held accountable for anything that came out of his mouth in the heat of the moment. "Yes, Shawn, this situation is completely my fault. I'm a regular land shark gone bad, Peter Benchley reincarnated. Under the sea, under the guise of friendship, only Dory and Marlin get eaten instead of serenaded. But we won't count the number of times where you took advantage of me. Our high school reunion, my former boss's mansion, your Uncle Jack, the bank, my sister Joy…need I go on? And what would have probably happened to Jason and Sissy had we not been involved?"

Shawn's eyes snapped open, swimming with a mixture of hurt and regret. He gulped a swallow, tilting his head back. "No…Gus, I…I didn't m-mean…" He let out a quiet sob. "You…you're not the o-one at f-fault, I just want…wanted…" His voice cracked, and he blinked, shoulders shuddering.

"I know, Shawn. I know. I'm only trying to help. Let's just get you up." He tried again, and coaxed his friend into a sitting position. Shawn hiccupped, and Gus eased the man's left arm over his shoulder. "Are you ready, Juliet?"

The detective checked her grip on Shawn's foot, and nodded. "As I'll ever be. And I think haste might be warranted. We're all going to be soaked in another five minutes."

Feeling the cold pelt of raindrops running down the back of his neck, Gus scowled at the sky. With firm pressure, he eased Shawn to a standing position, Juliet keeping his friend's right leg bent at the knee so she could keep his foot elevated. "We'll take it one step at a time."

Shawn gasped, hopping on his left leg, Gus taking most of Shawn's weight against his side. "Dude, nobody asked m-me if I was ready! You know how I've always sucked at the three-legged race." He hopped another step. "And references? Where did that Precious Moment come f-from?"

"Disney Channel," answered Gus.

"Disney?" They managed another few feet. "Since when does—" Hop. Gasp. "—Mickey Mouse tangle with the ocean's great white killing machine?"

"Since the Tivo malfunctioned and I got a recording of Finding Nemo and Jaws mixed together, with a little SNL on the side."

The steps were next. "I feel like I'm on a possessed Pogo Stick, and that gravity is working overtime. And I'm not buying your story, Gus. I feel…it is completely untrue…an utter fabrication meant to…ahhhh! Jules, stop it…stop! You're pushing too hard!"

"And you're pulling away, Shawn!" O"hara sounded put out and very peeved, and Gus knew when to take a hint.

"Take it easy, Shawn." Gus paused, letting his friend take a breather. "And you might want to cut Juliet some slack. And remember she's armed."

"Too bad forearmed isn't always forewarned." Shawn hopped the last few steps leading to the door. "But I'm really glad she was packing. Because seeing Jules shoot that whack job in the hand was easily the highlight of the evening."

"You got that right" Gus agreed somberly.

To be continued…?

A/N: I haven't decided if I should continue with the night spent in the cabin, or just do the epilogue. What do you think? This is my first Psych fic, I've only been watching the show since July. I've written in other fandoms, SGA, LOTR, but this was an exercise to see if I could hear the Psych characters in my head. Hope you enjoyed it. Also, did some research on the animal traps, but only found vague facts saying they were illegal now, which I already knew. So any errors are entirely mine. Thanks ot KerrAvon, who lead me to this wonderful series. I was reading some of her SGA fic earlier in July, after the show was cancelled, and got curious why someone would write Psych fanfic. Little did I know…


End file.
